


Hotel Baggins

by hpmiddleearth, thismomentintime



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hotels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpmiddleearth/pseuds/hpmiddleearth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismomentintime/pseuds/thismomentintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins owns a hotel and three new guests (Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews Fili and Kili) immediately get on his nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so English is not my first language, my sister @hpmiddleearth translated this for me but it's also not her first language, so if you see any language errors please point it out to us! I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

Satisfied, Bilbo looked around. The lobby of Hotel Baggins was absolutely untainted after his evening clean-up and finally it was time to go to bed. After a last glimpse through the room, he straightened a pillow on the worn out but cosy couch, and then he turned off the lights with a tranquil feeling.  
At that moment, someone knocked on the door thrice, loudly.  
“Now who might that be, at this hour? Don't they know it's long past closing hours?” Bilbo mumbled, hurrying to the door on his fluffy slippers. With a click he unlocked the door and in front of him were standing three men, most probably a father with two near-adult sons.  
“I'm sorry, what can I help you with?” Bilbo asked politely.  
“We need a place to sleep”, the father responded in a gruff tone.  
Bilbo forced a smile, wondering how someone could be so impolite to disturb him on a late hour like this and then talk to him in such a demanding manner. “Then you're at the right address,” he said, as polite as the occasion let him. “You're lucky, I just wanted to close off. There are still some rooms available.” He opened the door farther and let his guests enter the abandoned lobby.  
“How long are you planning on staying? And how many rooms would you like to hire?” He tried not to let it show just how much the appearance of the father imposed on him, with his long black curls, sturdy leather jacket and haughty look.  
“A room for one and one for two, for an undetermined period of time. You can assume a long stay,” the man said in a commanding tone.  
His way of communicating didn't appeal to Bilbo at all, but he kept his temper and showed the men their rooms as hospitable as possible.  
“Breakfast is downstairs in the room at the right of the lobby, from half past seven to-”  
“We'll find it,” interrupted the father, who had hired the rooms under the name of Oakenshield.  
“Oh. Well then. Good night,” Bilbo said, rather bewildered.  
He got no greet in return.  
Again, he walked downstairs to close off the lobby, and when he arrived there, he groaned of frustration. Three pairs of muddy footsteps traced their ways over the white flagstone tiles. That meant night work. “Nothing I can't handle,” he mumbled to calm himself down a bit. “It just happens sometimes. Not a problem. I'll have it clean in no time.” He ran a hand through his gold-brown curls, straightened the tie of his bordeaux red uniform and went to work quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning brought a headache, a symptom he was used to after he'd had a too short night's sleep. He cursed his new guests in silence, but as a hotel warden it just wasn't an option to skip work, so he refreshed himself with a cold shower and then went to prepare breakfast.  
The Oakenshield family had invaded the cosy dining-room before half past seven already. Bilbo wondered why he was still surprised about that, but put on his hospitable face and told them as polite as possible that breakfast wouldn't start for another quarter of an hour.  
“I'll decide for myself when I eat,” the father snapped at him. In the light of the sunrise, the grey strikes in his hair were highlighted, as well as the intense blue of his eyes, which could enforce a certain respect with one look.  
“I'm sorry mister Oakenshield, but...” Bilbo fell silent when the man picked up a plate and began to lade it with croissants, sesame buns and sausages.  
“Aren't there any scrambled eggs?” he asked harshly.  
For a little while Bilbo just stared at him; then he recovered himself and mumbled that he was still working on that. “Good. I'd like it to be here as soon as possible.”  
Bilbo stared after him through squeezed eyes. Then he realized his sons were still standing in front of him. “Take whatever you like,” he told them helplessly, and a lot less kind than he normally treated his guests.  
The boy with the same dark and slightly curly hair as his father needn't be told twice, but the other one, who had blond hair, turned to Bilbo first. “I'm sorry about my uncle, he can be quite stubborn.” He shrugged apologetic. “He just doesn't like being told what to do and what not to do, if you get me.”  
Bilbo smiled, relieved that at least one person in the company had some decency. “No problem, no problem,” he said, although that wasn't entirely true. “Please, have some tea, make yourself at home. So mister Oakenshield is your uncle?”  
The boy nodded. “Our uncle,” he said, with a gesture towards his brother, who was providing himself with cereal a few more steps away. “We're on a trip with him for a while.”  
“Oh, that sounds...” Bilbo's view shifted to the table, at which mister Oakenshield was attacking his sausages like a wild animal. “fun.”  
The boy grinned. “If you get to know him a little better you'll see he's actually a very nice man. I'm Fili by the way, I don't think I'd introduced myself. And my brother's name is Kili.” He shook Bilbo's hand firmly.  
“Original names,” he said.  
Fili laughed. “Yes, that's my mother's creativity, I'm afraid. But I won't delay you any longer, good luck with the eggs.”  
And in a slightly better mood, Bilbo disappeared into the kitchen behind the buffet table. Although the uncle seemed to be a rude, arrogant, unmannered and dominating man, his nephews seemed quite alright. It was, in any case, a relief to know that they weren't his sons.  
But when Bilbo was done in the kitchen and the dining-room had been filled with guest who did mind the official schedule, he had to revise that opinion.  
At his new guests' table, there was a lot of eating, and, guided by loud laughter, the nephews were making an immense mess. The other guests were all sitting as far from the boisterous company as possible, with disapproving faces and pursed lips.  
Bilbo would've loved to step up to mister Oakenshield and tell him exactly what the rules were in this hotel, but he came to the conclusion that he didn't really dare. Bilbo was quite small, after all, and not a person who liked to stand up to people, and mister Oakenshield was rather imposing for him. He hated to admit that, even only to himself, but he couldn't help it. And that's why he had to look, filled with annoyance, how the Oakenshield family kept eating with loud voices and unmannered laughter and, in case of the youngest brother, loud burps. It was horrible, and he had never seen his other guests have their breakfast in such a short time as that morning. When the Oakenshield family had finally left the room, Bilbo needed half the morning to get everything nice and clean again, and the just clean flowery tablecloth which he was always so careful of, well, he could just as well bring it straight back to the dry cleaner's. In silence he hoped, against all odds, that the family would leave his hotel and the village before that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo had a hard time concentrating on his normal activities for the rest of the day. He wasn't used to lose control and didn't like his daily rhythm to be interrupted – both were things that had occurred twice since the Oakenshield family's arrival.  
Luckily, the family weren’t coming back just yet, and he slowly began to relax. He made his round along the rooms, proud of the fact that five out of ten were occupied (and it wasn't even high season yet), and made the beds, vacuum cleaned where it was needed, and laid down an extra thick blanket for that thin girl in room 3 because the coming few nights would get quite cold. After that, he made a delicious, extensive lunch for himself and detected that his headache had completely gone away. He spent the afternoon as he would spend any workaday Thursday afternoon: doing his shopping for the next few days in the small village.  
And so, the afternoon faded into evening, very normal and everyday, just like he was accustomed to. At precisely six o'clock, his corpulent, red-haired cook arrived, and Bilbo was glad to see him.  
“Bombur!” he called out when he entered the kitchen to talk.  
“Hey Bilbo, how are you doing?”  
“Fine, fine. Listen, there are three unexpected guests since yesterday night. I don't know if they're planning on eating here, but it could be possible that you have a little bit more work than expected.”  
Bombur nodded cheerfully. “Not a problem, you know that, right? At least, if Nori is still planning on showing up.” He cast a glance at the big watch around his plump wrist and raised a doubtful eyebrow.  
“Oh, you know Nori, he is always late.”  
“And every evening he comes with a worse excuse.”  
Bilbo grinned when he heard someone rummaging about. “Guess that's him.”  
And indeed, the kitchen help came bursting in with a red head.  
Bilbo burst out into laughter when he saw how ridiculous he looked.  
“Sorry I'm late, the children insisted on...” He gestured helplessly at his long beard, in which all kinds of small braids were made which were also braided together, like a true work of art.  
Bombur laughed his booming, contagious Bombur-laugh and threw an apron at Nori's head. “Well, get to work you, these vegetables need chopping.”  
“Can I first remove this monstrous hairdo?” Nori complained.  
“How dare you ask?” Bombur laughed. “It looks far too good on you, you’ll have to keep it!”  
“But-”  
“Mouth shut, you were too late already. Take a pepper and get to work!”  
Bilbo spent his evening just like all other evenings: he provided the guests with everything they needed and made a pleasant talk here and there. Meanwhile, he caught himself stealing glances at the door every now and then, but to his great relief, the Oakenshield family didn't show up just yet – although that didn't mean anything in their case, he reminded himself. Who knew they'd come barging in at 10 o'clock and demand a complete dinner...  
But at half past ten, the time on which Bilbo always locked the doors, they still hadn't come back, and Bilbo kept lingering after he'd cleaned up the lobby, long past the time on which the last of the guests had gone upstairs. Should he stay up until they came back? Or should he teach them a lesson and just lock the door and go to bed?  
Of course he decided to stay up, he was too good a host to just lock them out. He picked up a book and sat on the couch to read, already in his pajama's, wearing a warm robe over them.  
It was about a quarter past eleven when the company finally arrived, laughing loudly and, so it seemed, in high spirits.  
“Ah, good, there you are,” Bilbo said, standing up. “For next time: the hotel closes at half past ten, and I won't be so good as to wait for your return every night.”  
Mister Oakenshield raised an eyebrow in a threatening way. “Oh? Is it not up to ourselves to decide when we think it's time to go to sleep?”  
Again, Bilbo wondered how someone could be so ill-mannered. “Well, it's not that you may not decide it, but there are certain rules you have to keep to when you stay in my hotel, such as-”  
“Yes, yes, whatever,” Oakenshield growled. “Come boys, time to go to sleep, you heard master Baggins.” The mocking tone in his voice was unmistakable.  
Kili laughed at his uncle, but Fili trudged behind with a somewhat guilty expression.  
“Oh, just a second, mister Oakenshield,” Bilbo said quickly. “I'd like to know how long you're planning on staying, what with reservations and such.”  
Oakenshield curled his lips in a sneer. “Seeing the amount of guests you have, you won't have to worry about that anytime soon,” he said in a pretend-friendly way.  
Bilbo had to summon all of his self-control not to make an impolite remark. “But surely you can give me an indication?” he asked as polite as possible.  
“About a month,” was the answer.  
“A month?!” The size of Bilbo's eyes multiplied.  
“Give or take, yes. Or is that against the rules as well?”  
Quickly, he shook his head. “No, no, of course not... A month... No, it's fine.” Desperate, he wondered how in the world he could keep all of his guests in the coming month. He already saw it happen, how they'd be chased away one by one by the bad manners of the Oakenshield family. He shook his head and told himself off; surely it couldn't go like that. “Good night,” he mumbled curtly, and then he walked to the privet part of the hotel.  
It wasn't until he had just burrowed himself warmly in his blankets, that he realized he had forgotten to lock the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Days full of annoyances seemed to crawl past. Every day, without fail, Bilbo found a tremendous mess in Fili and Kili's room, guests complained about noise nuisance late at night or early in the morning, the Oakenshields came barging in at the most impossible times, and they had thousands of other annoying habits that Bilbo could barely stand.  
The sixth evening after the arrival of the family, Bilbo encountered mister Oakenshield alone for the first time, without the boisterous company of his nephews. It was late already and Bilbo came to the lobby to lock the doors, where he saw the man with a book on the couch. He actually wanted to ask him to go to bed, but he had the faint idea that Oakenshield wouldn't like that and on top of that, Bilbo loved books too much not to be curious to what the man was reading.  
So he approached him hesitantly and cleared his throat. “I'm sorry to bother you, mister Oakenshield, but may I ask what you're reading?”  
His suspicious look disappeared when he heard the question. “Call me Thorin,” he said, to Bilbo's surprise. “And I fear it's one of your books. I borrowed it.”  
He lifted a worn, half fallen apart paperback and Bilbo immediately recognized it as one of the books from his own bookcase in the lobby.  
A smile appeared on his face when he saw the cover.  
“That one certainly is recommendable,” he said.  
Thorin nodded. “The thing about books in public places is that you can immediately see from the outside which ones are the best. I always choose the most worn one, because they have been read most often and thus they are most worth the effort.”  
Bilbo was astonished by this way of thinking, which he had never sought for in the arrogant man in the leather jacket. He decided not to tell that the book only looked so worn because he himself had read it so many times that he now almost knew it by heart. “So you like reading?” he asked instead.  
Thorin closed his book. He looked more relaxed than Bilbo had ever seen him. “If the stories are worth the effort, then yes.”  
“And is this story worth the effort?”  
“I'm not that far yet,” Thorin said. “but the beginning is gripping. Enchanted kingdoms in strange worlds just never cease to be exciting, do they?”  
“I do think so. It's a fascinating story, from cover to cover. Although I don't recognize myself at all in the main character,” Bilbo admitted while sitting down next to Thorin.  
A dark look slid over Thorin's face. “Up to the part where I am right now, I can fully understand him,” he said. “The urge to find his kingdom, even though it is impossible... and to be traveling all the time, never having any rest, searching for something but not knowing what...”  
“You travel much, don't you?” Bilbo asked, curious.  
Thorin nodded and seemed to shake off an unpleasant thought. “Yes, I like to travel. Especially by motor, but this time I wanted to take my nephews and hired a van. All three of us liked it here, so we decided to spend most of our holiday in this village.”  
“Sounds exciting, all that traveling,” Bilbo said. “I like to read about extraordinary places, but I haven't seen much of the world myself. I just love my village and my hotel too much, I think.”  
“There's nothing wrong with that, either,” Thorin said. “Traveling is restless, on that aspect. I'd like to have a place I could feel at home.”  
“But you don't have that?”  
The same dark look as before returned in Thorin's eyes. “No,” he said curtly. “I won't uphold you any longer; good night.” Suddenly he stood up and without looking back he went inside the corridor.  
Astonished, Bilbo watched him stride away. Who'd have thought he could have such a normal conversation with mister Oakenshield, though the ending had been a bit abrupt. But actually it had gone very natural, even relaxed. More than an impolite, sudden ending he couldn't have expected from this man. It was already quite a miracle that he had wished Bilbo good night.   
Bilbo shook his head, incredulous, but happy about this progress and hoping that Thorin would treat him more kind and friendly. Then he followed his example and went to bed as well.  
It was a long time before he fell asleep: he stared at the dark ceiling endlessly, thinking of everything Thorin had told him. There was something about that man, Bilbo was now sure of that. Something was hidden underneath the sturdy, tough exterior. Before now, Bilbo had never suspected that Thorin, just like everybody, must have gone through things, but now it was suddenly clear that there had to be a reason for his arrogant behavior – arrogance that had been completely absent this evening. And it was at that moment that Bilbo realized that he wasn't so much annoyed by Thorin Oakenshield as he was intrigued by him, without having realized it, from the moment he'd seen the long-haired man with his haughty look standing on his doorstep.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Thorin didn't appear at breakfast until after nine, contrary to his nephews.  
To Bilbo's surprise, his “good morning” got answered for the first time in all those days, after which Thorin sat down at a table in the corner with a big plate stacked with beans, eggs and bacon. Between his activities, Bilbo watched him on the sly, though he wondered why. Bilbo would really like to resume the conversation from yesterday night, he realized. He'd like to ask Thorin about his favourite books, and about the places he'd been and the things he'd done. But at that moment, Thorin appeared to be as distant and imposing as always, and Bilbo didn't dare sitting down next to him to start a conversation. Moreover, he looked like he wanted to enjoy his breakfast alone, on a new rare moment without his nephews.  
That's why Bilbo waited until he'd finished, last of all guests, while he was busy cleaning the kitchen.  
Before Thorin left the restaurant, though, he quickly popped his head around the corner of the kitchen door and said: “The scrambled eggs were tasty today.”  
Before Bilbo could reply, he was gone already and he heard his heavy footsteps fade away. Had he just received a compliment from Thorin Oakenshield? Something that almost sounded like a “thank you”? No, that was impossible, he thought to himself.  
Resolute, he put his musings aside and took up his daily routine again. One by one, he cleaned all of the rooms, with the comforting thought that he wouldn't see Thorin again until the evening – until he opened the door of the last room and saw Thorin lie in his bed, reading Bilbo's favourite book.  
“Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't want to disturb you,” he said hastily. “I didn't expect you home. I'm sorry, I'll clean your room later.”  
“That's okay,” Thorin said when he saw how awkward Bilbo felt. “I wasn’t feeling too well, so I sent my nephews out together. You couldn't have known.”  
“Oh,” Bilbo said, somewhat confused. “Are you ill?”  
“Just a cold, I guess, nothing bad. It'll be over in no time.”  
“Oh, how inconvenient, and on your holiday as well!” Bilbo exclaimed full of sympathy. “I'll go and get you an extra blanket, you must be cold.”  
Thorin protested that it wasn't necessary, but Bilbo came back soon with a thick woolen blanket which he draped over him, ignoring his new protests. After that, he brought him a pot of warm tea and assured him he'd bring him lunch that afternoon.  
“That really isn't necessary. Don't bother, I'll get-”  
“No, you're ill,” Bilbo said determined. “Go to sleep, then you'll be better in no time.” After that, he left Thorin alone and didn't disturb him for the rest of the morning. Every time he came close to his room, he moved extra silently, not to wake him up, and near lunch-time he made a big can of tea, prepared some toast and baked an egg for Thorin.  
“Thank you,” Thorin said when Bilbo brought the food in. “You're much too good for me.”  
Bilbo smiled, still not used to the new kindness of his guest. “Enjoy your meal,” he said. “If I can do anything else for you, just say so. Are you warm enough? Do you need any handkerchiefs, or nose drops, or anything else?”  
Thorin laughed at that; a curt, mocking laugh. “Don't exaggerate, master Baggins. I'll be fine.”  
But right when Bilbo wanted to close the door, he changed his mind. “Although a bit of company wouldn't hurt.” At the sight of Bilbo's surprised look, he added quicky: “If you've got the time to stay for a little while, I mean.”  
“Yes,” Bilbo said swiftly, recovering from the surprise. “Yes, of course I can provide you with company. That shouldn't be too difficult.” He stepped back into the half-dark room, moved Thorin's dirty clothes from the only chair to the ground and then sat down on the chair himself. “What do you think of the book?” he asked, gesturing with his head in the direction of the night stand.  
“I finished it,” Thorin said. “A true pity it wasn’t longer. It was beautiful, but it keeps going through my head.”  
“I'm plagued by the same thing every time I finish it,” Bilbo said. “The ending is terrible, don't you think? Terrible, but stunningly beautiful.”  
“You like books, don't you?” Thorin asked.  
Bilbo nodded enthusiastically.  
“Do you like to read this kind of books?”  
Bilbo nodded again. “As long as it's about distant countries and adventures, I'm content.”  
“Why don't you go to those distant countries yourself?”  
Bilbo shrugged. “I'm not a person to go on an adventure. I prefer to do it via my books. But you've seen much of the world, haven't you? Which places have you been to?”  
The ghost of a smile lay on Thorin's lips. “I've seen lots of the world. First, I studied economics and then I started working at a bank, and in short time I got offered more and more important functions. One day, I'd had enough. Back then I had a high function and a matching bank account, so I decided to quit to do what I really wanted, so I left with my motor. The freedom was lovely. I could go where I wanted to go, I could do whatever I felt the urge to do, and I've been on the most beautiful of places... though it was lonely sometimes.”  
“What's the most beautiful place you've ever been?” Bilbo asked, curious.  
“New Zealand, without a doubt,” Thorin replied. “The landscape there is stunning, you almost can't imagine it if you've never been there. Enormous forests, rolling hills, rocky landscapes, vast grasslands, broad rivers...” Thorin began to tell about his experiences in New Zealand, and Bilbo saw everything clearly in his mind. The landscape, the people, the tranquillity and silence; guided by Thorin's deep, calmly speaking voice, he saw the story like a movie in his head. He forgot about the time and everything around him, and he could keep listening to Thorin forever.  
“...and then I went back home, and of course to my sister, Dis, and Fili and Kili wanted to hear about literally everything I'd experienced. They couldn't get enough of it, and begged me to take them to New Zealand once. Maybe I'll do that someday. I certainly want to go back there.”  
It was a while before Bilbo realized Thorin's story had ended. “They're very fond of you, aren't they, your nephews?” he asked.  
Thorin nodded. “They don't have a father anymore themselves,” he told. “I think I became some kind of a father-figure for them. But I will never be a father for them, not really. For that, I'm much too...” He didn't finish his sentence, but Bilbo understood what he wanted to say. Thorin just wasn't the fatherly type, that was crystal clear.  
“What happened to their father?” he thus asked, hesitantly.  
“He was in the army,” Thorin told. “He died when the boys were very young; they barely have any memories left of him. Kili none, even, I believe.”  
Bilbo didn't really know what to say. “Then it's nice for them to have you, even though you're not really their father,” he decided in the end.  
Thorin pulled the corners of mouth sadly. “He would've been a far better father,” he said. “I liked him very much.”  
“What kind of man was he?” Bilbo asked.  
“Actually, he was a lot like Fili,” Thorin said. “In appearance, but also in behaviour. Both were equally pugnacious, equally selfless... especially towards Kili.” He smiled a small smile. “From the moment Kili was born, he did things he wasn't supposed to. His father constantly kept him out of trouble, and when he was gone, Fili took over that role. Without Kili, Fili would have nothing to do, and without Fili, Kili would be lost.”  
When Bilbo heard Thorin talk about his family, he again saw a whole different side of him. He had already seen that Fili and Kili were important to him, of course, but from the rare smile on his face at the thought of them, and the way he now described his sister, he could notice that he cared more about his family than anything in the world. Bilbo hadn't expected that under that cold mask there was a man who could be so loving.  
They kept talking all afternoon. Thorin told Bilbo more about his voyages, and Bilbo told Thorin about how he grew up in in the village and about the people living there.  
It wasn't until they were startled by loud knocks on the door, that Bilbo realized he had neglected all of his afternoon work and that his planning was completely ruined.  
“Uncle Thorin, can we come in?”  
That were Fili and Kili, coming back for dinner. They were surprised to find Bilbo next to their uncle, but before they could ask what he was doing there, he went away to check if Bombur and Nori had already began their work.  
“Please, stay in bed, I'll bring you some soup soon!” Bilbo called out over his shoulder to Thorin.  
Of course, Bilbo kept his promise, and although Thorin went to sleep soon, he stayed at his bedside to talk, trying not to think about how it ruined his scheme further. Afterwards, he gave Thorin a warm pitcher, checked if he wasn't too cold, and wished him good night. For the second night in a row, the good night got returned.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin got better quickly in the next few days, but Bilbo kept spending much of his time in the cosy hotel room. Quickly, the annoying first few days were forgotten and a special understanding between the two developed. They talked about anything and everything and Bibo noticed that he didn't at all see mister Oakenshield as the arrogant, harsh, imposing man he thought he knew anymore, but that Thorin must have experienced a few things that had made him so distant. Bilbo didn't know what exactly those things were. Thorin didn't talk about his childhood. His parents and the place where he’d grown up never came up, he took great care of that, but every time Bilbo asked him about it, his eyes got that dark look in them and he became curt and gruff again.  
That's why Bilbo decided to leave the topic for what it was.  
But the understanding slowly grew into something Bilbo could call friendship, and from the time Thorin was entirely better again, he couldn't fool himself any longer.  
He searched for a silent place under the oak in the deserted courtyard of the hotel and took his phone to call his best friend, an ex-guest of Hotel Baggins. To his relief, Bofur answered the call almost immediately.  
“Hey Bilbo, how nice of you to call! How are you doing?”  
The familiar voice of Bofur immediately soothed Bilbo's nerves. Although they’d barely seen each other at all for a few years since Bofur's stay at Hotel Baggins, they'd stayed very fond of each other and they had updated one another over the phone regularly. Bofur was a companiable and funny friend, but he was also very good at giving advice – and advice was exactly what Bilbo needed at the moment.  
Thus, the conversation soon came to the topic Bilbo had actually called for, after the traditional news exchange.  
“Since about two weeks, an uncle is staying here with his two nephews,” he started. His heart was beating in his throat; even to Bofur, it was scary to talk about. “His name is Thorin. And I need your advice.”  
“Okay, tell me about it,” said Bofur in his ear, curious.  
Bilbo had the idea that his friend could already guess what he was going to say. “I'm afraid that I...” The words wouldn't pass his lips and he cleared his throat. “That I have feelings for him.”  
Bofur was silent for a moment. “You think you're in love with that Thorin?”  
Bilbo nodded, blushing, but then realized Bofur couldn't see him and said: “Yes. Yes, I actually think so. It's just... he isn't quite the easiest man. It's hard to describe him, but he's quite complicated.” He sighed miserably. “It's just a terrible thought that he'll probably be leaving in about two weeks. On one hand, I have no clue how to survive that time and I'd like to see him leave as soon as possible, but on the other hand, the idea of never seeing him again after that is almost unbearable.”  
“Why do you think you'll never see him again after those two weeks?” asked Bofur.  
“Because... well, because it makes sense. Why would I ever see him again? Why would I ever want to see him again? It's only confusing.”  
“But what if he has feelings for you, too?”  
Bilbo laughed an unnaturally high-pitched laugh. “Don't be ridiculous, Bofur!” he exclaimed. “No way! I mean, we talk quite a lot these days, but apart from that, he's... he is...” Bilbo actually didn't know what he wanted to say and fell silent.  
“He's what?” Bofur asked, though.  
“It's so hard to explain!” Bilbo said frustrated. “He's two extremes. On first sight, he's the sturdiest man you can imagine, with long hair and a motorcycle and black clothes... I couldn't stand him: he was impolite and arrogant and he didn't show consideration with anyone or anything. But then I got to know him better and he turned out to be exceptionally kind. Something happened to him, something he doesn't talk about, and I think that that caused him to seem so insufferable.” Bilbo realized he was rattling and brought himself back to reality. “But that's not my business,” he said, decidedly. “I'm just making myself crazy. On one hand, I want nothing rather than to be with him all the time, but on the other hand I want to forget about him as soon as possible. That doesn't match quite well, not for as long as he's here, but if I go on like this, it'll only hurt more when he leaves in a number of days.”  
Bofur had listened to it all patiently, and now he asked: “How do you know for sure that there's no chance he has feelings for you, as well?”  
Bilbo had to laugh at just the idea. “Don't be ridiculous, Bofur. He's much too sturdy to see anything in me. On top of that, he prefers to be alone. He travels the whole world, nearly always alone, and I have the impression he's fine with that. He's not a person who needs anybody. For that, he's too complicated.”  
“Then you'll have to try and get him out of your head,” Bofur said, hesitantly.  
“I know, I know,” Bilbo mumbled. It sounded like an impossible task. “Two whole weeks, maybe longer... I'll never survive that.”  
“Maybe I've got an idea...”  
“What is it?”  
“I'd been thinking for a while to come and visit you again. This summer seemed perfect for it, but I can move it a few weeks forward and just get to you as quickly as I can. To distract you, tell you what a terrible man that Thorin is, that sort of things... if you want to, of course.”  
A smile lit up Bilbo's face. It would be great to see Bofur in real life again! “Sounds like a beautiful plan! Will it fit with your work and all that?”  
“Of course, I can close the bakery whenever I want to. Plans are easily changed, and if I come anyway, I could better go now than in a month, right?”  
“Yes, I'd like that very much.” Relief flooded Bilbo at the thought that his best friend would help him through. “When will you be coming?”  
Somewhere, a door slammed and Bilbo nearly jumped of fright, although of course nobody was near.  
“Well, you know I don't really live close by, so it'll take a few days before I'm there,” Bofur said. “I can never in my life pay for plane tickets, but I'll pack as soon as possible and I'll check when one of those overnight trains will be leaving.”  
“Great, you're amazing!”  
“So, master Baggins, can I make a reservation for a room?”  
Bilbo laughed. “Anytime, Bofur, anytime. See you soon!”  
They said goodbye and Bilbo hung up in a much better mood. Bofur was right: it was useless to happily have endless conversations with Thorin, if it would only mean doubled pain in the end. It was time to behave professionally again and treat him as nothing more than the annoying guest he'd once been.


	7. Chapter 7

That night, Bilbo could feel Thorin's gaze on his back when he completely ignored him and didn't join him on the couch in the lobby. Of course Thorin had noticed his change in behaviour, but he hadn't said anything about it and Bilbo was hoping to keep it that way.  
He retreated to his own quarters, far away from the guests and with a book and a glass of wine to distract his thoughts.  
But at night, he lay awake for a long time. He tried not to pay attention to the knot in his stomach and instead think of Bofur’s arrival, but again and again he caught his thoughts straying to Thorin Oakenshield. Just two more weeks, he told himself. Just two more weeks and you'll never have to see him again.  
Not that that really soothed the pain.  
The next morning, Thorin greeted him cheerfully as soon as he stepped into the restaurant with Fili and Kili. Bilbo, though, mumbled something inaudible and fled into the kitchen, again with the feeling that Thorin’s eyes scorched his back.  
To his surprise, he noticed he had to bite back tears. Bilbo had never really been in love. It did much more to him than he could ever have expected. He had always been fine with being alone, with his hotel, his books and his friends around him. Thorin's arrival had disturbed everything. This morning, he had burned the bacon for the first time he could remember, he had spilled milk over his best tablecloth... He just wanted to crawl deep into his bed and forget all about the world around him.  
But he couldn't. He took a deep and shaky breath, pulled himself together and walked back to the restaurant with a basket filled with bread. As if it had a life of its own, his gaze slid to the Oakenshield family's table. He looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to see Kili nudge his brother and jerk his head in Bilbo's direction. Was it so obvious that he suddenly couldn't handle himself around Thorin anymore?  
Luckily, Thorin disappeared quickly, unfortunately not without an examining look in Bilbo's direction, but his nephews kept talking at their table in the corner for a long time, suspiciously quiet in contrast to their usual behaviour and with many conspiring looks. Bilbo wondered what they were up to this time, but was too much occupied by his own thoughts to really care about it. Instead, he sent them away at half past nine exactly, and turned off his thoughts for as far as he could, while he worked harder than ever for the rest of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

A day or two passed like that. Bilbo avoided Thorin carefully, Thorin clearly not understanding why, but also not stepping up to Bilbo to resume their usual contact.  
In the afternoon two days after his call with Bofur, he saw the book Thorin had lent from him lie on the counter. When he picked it up to put it back in the bookcase, a scrap of paper fell on the ground. He bent to pick it up and saw it was a message to him, scribbled down in clear, black letters:

"Bilbo,  
I know something's wrong.  
You're avoiding me and I think I have the right to know why.  
Come to the oak tree in the courtyard at five p.m."

There wasn't a name under it, but it was clear whom it was from. The handwriting, the commanding tone, the book it had fallen out of; everything screamed Thorin.  
Absent-mindedly, Bilbo stroked the ink with his fingers. He was more important to Thorin than he'd thought, otherwise he'd never taken the effort. It wasn't a good idea to face Thorin again, he wasn't able to tell Thorin what was really going on anyway. But how could he ever refuse?  
When he walked outside, Thorin was nowhere to be seen yet, and he got a little bit uncertain. Hesitantly, he sat down on the bench on which he'd called Bofur a few days ago and had taken the decision not to put any time or effort in him again. And look what he was doing now... in silence he cursed himself, but he couldn't possibly get up and walk away.  
And then Thorin came out the back door, his hair lifted by the small breeze for a moment, and Bilbo's heart immediately started beating twice as fast.  
With confident steps he strode towards him swiftly, and without greeting he sat down, nearly half a meter away.  
Bilbo had the idea he should say something, but his voice didn't work. Nervously, he swiped his sweaty hands over the trousers of his bordeaux red uniform.  
“So,” Thorin interrupted the awkward silence. “I'm here.”  
“Yes,” Bilbo said.  
A thrush whistled and the silence stretched on.  
“Are you going to tell me, or what?” Thorin asked in a not very reassuring tone.  
“I don't know if I can,” Bilbo said softly. “It's complicated.”  
Thorin's gaze seemed to soften a bit. “Well,” he sighed. “Complicated things are always the hardest to tell. Especially if they're things you don't want to think about again.”  
Then Bilbo got an idea. “There are things you don't want to tell me, aren't there?” he asked, his heart hammering in his chest.  
Thorin nodded.  
“Do you still not want to talk about it?”  
Thorin heaved a sigh again. “When I was fourteen, both my parents and my brother died,” he started, without an introduction or a warning. “They died in a car-crash. From one moment on the other, I was an orphan, and my sister is a few years older than me, so she lived on her own already. I got moved from foster family to foster family, but nobody wanted to have me in their house for a long time. I was a difficult teenager. The loss of my family was something I could barely deal with, but I wasn't someone who showed that. I didn't like to talk. Instead, I became rebellious. It wasn't long before I ended up in the world of gangs. Wrong people, of course, but the only people who didn't show pity and who didn't care about my story and how I lost my family. It wasn't smart, of course, but it just happened – looking back, I realized it was a flight.  
This one time, it went completely wrong. The police were after us, and that was the moment I realized I had to stop. My sister helped me with that. We didn't have much contact at the moment, but although I didn't know, she had always cared about me. She did everything she could to keep me out of trouble when the gang was arrested, and I was lucky enough to meet a very reasonable policeman. His name was Balin, We’re still good friends. He took care that I didn't get a police record, because he believed in me, he said. My sister took me in. I was seventeen back then, she was twenty-four. That certainly wasn't an easy time, especially for her, but she never gave up on me. She gave me a life back, a perspective. She took care of me studying, of me getting back on track. I'm eternally grateful for that.”  
He was silent for a moment, and Bilbo didn't know what to say. Finally, he understood what made Thorin like this. It was grief, a kind of grief Bilbo couldn't even imagine.  
“So now you know. Pity me, fear me... do whatever you can't keep yourself from,” Thorin said, cynical.  
Bilbo opened his mouth, but his voice didn't cooperate. “I'm not afraid,” he managed to get out. “That'd be ridiculous. And given the fact that you don't want pity, I won't give it to you.”  
It was impossible to say what Thorin thought of his reaction.  
“But you still owe me a story,” he only said.


	9. Chapter 9

“Is that so?” Bilbo asked. He knew he'd never be able to tell him his confession, and that he didn't want to tell him, either.  
Thorin laughed, humourless. “Why did I have to come here, then? But whatever it is, I'm not mad at you. I understand you needed some space. Why did you think I'd be angry?”  
Bilbo frowned. “What are you talking about? Did I ever say you'd be angry?”  
“You wrote it,” Thorin said. “I first wanted to make clear that-”  
“What did I write?” Bilbo was utterly flabbergasted.  
Now Thorin looked back at him, equally confused. “In that letter of yours, of course.”  
“What letter?”  
“Are you serious?”  
“What letter are you talking about, Thorin? I got a letter from you, not the other way around, remember?”  
Thorin stared at him, not knowing if he should believe him or not. Then his eyes got wide. “Fili! Kili!” he shouted. “I should have known! Why-”  
“I don't understand, what is the meaning of all this?” Bilbo asked, even more confused.  
But Thorin jumped up from the bench, angrier than Bilbo had ever seen him. “Fili and Kili did this! So you got a letter from me which said you had to come here?”  
Bilbo nodded.  
“Well, by chance, I got one just like it from you, Bilbo Baggins. I told you everything, because I thought you wanted to know, but actually, you didn't care at all!”  
“What... no, of course I cared!” Bilbo sputtered. But his thoughts were working at top-speed. He saw the examining gazes the brothers had sent his way the past few days, their sneaky conversations whenever their uncle wasn't close by... and then he remembered the sound of the door slamming shut during his privet conversation with Bofur. They had overheard it, he realized with the feeling of a stone landing in his stomach. He hadn't been alone at all. Fili and Kili had heard it and had thought it would deliver a funny situation. Well, if they knew he could just as well be in control himself, he concluded bitterly. Thorin would find out anyway, with those idiotic nephews of his.  
He took a deep breath and interrupted Thorin's tirade he hadn't been listening to. “Thorin, please stop. Your nephews didn't do this to make a fool out of you, but of me.”  
Thorin shut his mouth, crossed his arms and looked down at Bilbo threateningly, something that didn't soothe his nerves at all.  
But there was no way back, so Bilbo began to confess everything: “They must have overheard a conversation between me and a friend in which I told him...” he cleared his throat and forced himself to say the words he'd never planned to say out loud. “I told him I have feelings for you.” He was no longer able to look Thorin in his deep blue eyes. He shrugged, apologizing, while he stared at a lost acorn between his feet in the grass. “If I hadn't told you, they would have done it,” he added miserably.  
Thorin was deathly quiet and Bilbo didn't dare to look up. He felt like his heart had been trampled. Why wasn't Bofur here yet? Maybe he could have prevented all this, Bilbo thought desperately.  
He felt how Thorin went to sit down on the bench next to him again.  
“I don't think you quite understand it,” he said carefully. “My nephews are stupid and annoying from time to time, but they'd never deliberately hurt someone. They suspected, I think, more than you and I.” He sighed, and Bilbo was still staring at that stupid acorn. “I think they saw that those feelings weren't unanswered.”  
With a jerk, Bilbo looked up, not able to believe what Thorin was telling him. His deep blue eyes looked at him gravely and Bilbo saw that he meant it.  
“But I can't, Bilbo, I'm sorry. I can't do this. I have to protect you. I'm not good, I can't love, I'm...” he couldn't finish his sentence and fell silent, hopelessly.  
Bilbo couldn't help him; as though petrified, he sat on the bench, dumbstruck.  
Thorin's gaze hardened. “I’ve been through a lot. Life has left its scars, and everything you thought of me when we first met, is true. I'm gruff, haughty, distant, sometimes downright antisocial. I can't do that to you. For that, you're too... too... too sweet. Too kind. You deserve so much more than a proud, stubborn tramp.” After a short silence, he added: “I've never felt at home anywhere, you know. I have to stay on the move.”  
“You could feel at home here,” Bilbo said against all hope.  
Abruptly, Thorin stood up, and without looking back, he walked back into the hotel.  
Bilbo felt nothing but emptiness as he watched him walk away. After a deep sigh, he also stood up and trudged to the restaurant to set the tables for dinner.  
He held on to the thought of Bofur arriving the next evening. Bofur would help him get through the coming weeks, which would no doubt be especially painful and difficult.  
A more optimistic person would probably have wanted to fight for Thorin's love, but Bilbo wasn't like that. When Thorin said he didn't want to, he respected and accepted that. It hurt, but he wasn't the kind of person who desperately held on to things that could be. Thus, he put on a smile for Bombur and Nori, served his guests as kindly as always, and tried to ignore the fact that the Oakenshield family didn't dine in the hotel that day.  
When he didn't run into Thorin reading on the couch in the lobby in the evening, he didn't linger, but immediately locked up the hotel and went to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

He had the feeling it was in the middle of the night when there were many loud knocks on his door.  
“Who's there?” he groaned drowsily, but too soft for the people on the other side to hear. He turned the light on, got out of bed and opened the door between his privet chambers and the hotel lobby.  
Fili and Kili stood before his door.  
“Boys, it's barely six o’clock, what's going on?” he asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  
“We need to talk to you,” Kili said.  
Before he could stop them, they wrung themselves past him into the small hall.  
“Listen, I know you know we tried to couple you,” Fili began.  
“Our uncle was furious,” Kili added.  
“Boys, I'm sorry, but this is not the moment-”  
“The problem is just that he'll never admit how much he cares about you,” Kili went on, completely ignoring Bilbo's protests. “Just because he cares so much about you. He thinks he's not good enough for you, because he, well, can be difficult to deal with. But that's rubbish, and you need to make that clear.”  
“Please, please don't just let him walk out of your life,” Fili begged. “Maybe our move wasn't the smartest, and we're sorry, but please don't waste this moment!”  
“Don't be such an idiot,” Bilbo said, more impolite than he'd ever been, and dumbstruck by the boys to disturb him with such a ridiculous message and at such an hour.  
But his gruffness didn't impress them; for that, they were too much used to gruffness, thanks to their uncle.  
“It's not idiotic,” Kili held on. “You must have seen it yourself. Since Thorin got to know you, he's changed. He's become friendlier, and happier, and more relaxed. He needs you.”  
“And I bet you need him as well,” Fili said.  
Bilbo shook his head. “This is madness. He's been very clear yesterday, and I'm not going to force myself on him. That's not who I am.”  
“But-”  
“Back to bed. Now,” Bilbo said sternly. He ignored their further protests and held the door open as wide as possible for them. “I'm tired and I want to sleep. Leave me alone.” And just like that, he slammed the door shut.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Bilbo!”  
“Bofur!”  
Bofur threw his bag on the ground and caught Bilbo in his reckless embrace.  
“Good to see you!”  
“Finally!”  
On an arm's length, they looked at each other, beaming.  
“You really haven't changed one bit,” Bofur grinned.  
Bilbo took in the twinkling blue eyes, dark hair, perfectly modelled moustache and merry dimples in his best friend's cheeks.  
“You gained some wrinkles, though,” he teased.  
“Oh, shut up. You did keep a room for me, didn't you?”  
“Who do you think I am?” Bilbo said, laughing. “You can sleep on the couch, that's all you're going to get.”  
Laughing, Bofur followed him to his room.  
“So, how are things with ehm...?” Bilbo got a significant look from his best friend as soon as he'd closed the door.  
He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. “Please don't make me talk about it,” he mumbled, but of course, a detailed description of all that had happened the last few days followed, to which Bofur listened, patiently and without interrupting.  
“Bilbo, you're not going to mess this up,” he said deadly serious when he had finished. “I'll force you if need be. But one way or another, you will go to Thorin and tell him the truth.”  
“And that is...?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.  
“That you love him and you don't care one bit that he is the way he is, and that you don't want to wait for another vague person from the future who might be better than him, because you're not waiting for anyone other than him. That's what you tell him, you idiot.”  
“But Bofur...”  
“No, no excuses, I mean it. Fili and Kili may have been idiotic, but they understand love better than the two of you,” Bofur said, sternly. “Two people who love each other should be together, simple as that. And you're not going to waste this opportunity on happiness. Understood?”  
Bilbo smiled nervously. “I've never heard you this stern,” he said.  
“That's not an answer.”  
He shrugged. “Well, you know, maybe I had better...” he was terrified to start the conversation with Thorin again, but he'd never in his life admit that.  
Then he straightened his back. Bofur was right, he decided. It was ridiculous to let yourself and someone else suffer, just because that someone had decided he wasn't good enough for you. Fili and Kili had made that clear in a not very subtle way, but Bofur had been logical and reasonable and Bilbo couldn't possibly object to it.  
“Where is he now?” Bofur asked, who had seen the change in Bilbo's mind and thus didn't need an answer anymore.  
“I don't know. In his room, I guess. It's quite late.”  
“Well, then what are you waiting for?”  
Bilbo laughed, disbelieving. “As if he'll ever open the door for me!”  
“You have a key, haven't you?”  
“That's burglary.”  
“In that case, you burgle at least ten people every day. Don't be such a coward, just break the door down if he doesn't open up for you. If you don't, I will do it for you.”  
“Okay, okay,” Bilbo sighed, desperate.  
“My god, what would become of you without me?” Bofur exclaimed, sounding even more desperate.  
“Oh, shut up,” Bilbo mumbled. Resolute, he turned his back to Bofur and walked out to the corridor. Before Thorin's door, he lingered. Nervously, he straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. He breathed in and out deeply, then knocked on the door gently.


	11. Chapter 11

“Who's there?”  
Thorin's deep voice still made his heart pound in his chest.  
“Ehm, Bilbo. Can I talk to you for a minute?”  
“I'm busy,” he answered curtly.  
“Thorin, please,” Bilbo said. “If you don't, I'll open the door myself.”  
“Don't they call that blackmailing?” Thorin grumbled, but while Bilbo mumbled “No, burglary,” he heard his heavy footsteps and then the lock clicked.  
“I'm sorry for interrupting,” Bilbo said when he came in. “but I have to tell you something.” He took a deep breath and collected all of his courage while Thorin waited with his most threatening scowl.  
This was not his cup of tea. But it had to happen. “Okay. I care about you, Thorin. And I really want to be with you, preferably for the rest of my life, however dramatic that may sound. And I know you said you're difficult and that I need someone else than you and that you’d rather travel the world. But, one time, you also said you'd like to have a place where you can feel at home.”  
A wondrous smile appeared on Thorin's face when he realized that Bilbo remembered what he'd said in their very first real conversation, and Bilbo felt encouraged to go on. “That place is here, Thorin, I promise. I don't want somebody else who might be easier for me. I have never dreamed of the perfect man. Actually, I thought I'd be alone for my whole life, and if I hadn't met you, that would've happened. I want you, Thorin, and nobody else, and never, never think that that's not enough. It's very simple, actually: if two people care about each other and want to be together, they have to do that. Maybe it's not easy, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it.”  
Thorin's look stayed unreadable and for a moment, Bilbo thought he'd made a huge mistake and that Thorin would hit him and hate him forever and that he'd been much too sentimental, but then he suddenly wrapped his strong arms securely around him, and Bilbo smelled his slightly exotic scent, his nose pressed in his black jumper, and felt his long hairs tickle his cheek, and no more words were needed. Time meant nothing while they stood there, in a simple but significant embrace, and when their lips finally found each other, Bilbo felt more complete and safe than he had ever felt before.


	12. Epilogue

“It's quite a windfall that we don't have to book a location,” Bilbo said.  
He was sitting on the couch in the lobby with Thorin next to him, surrounded by papers full of ideas for their upcoming wedding. A week or two ago, Thorin had proposed and since then, Bilbo could think about nothing else. He was utterly happy that Thorin, finally, after months of holding back, had put all of his doubts and insecurities aside and made it clear in such a way how much he cared about him.  
Thorin, too, was happier than he had ever been: Bilbo had given him the rest he'd never had in his life, and that was something nobody, not even his sister Dis, had ever managed.  
“The hotel is a perfect location,” Thorin agreed. His right arm lay loosely around Bilbo's shoulders, who carefully wrote everything down.  
“My best man will be Bofur, we knew that already,” Bilbo mumbled. “But you still haven't chosen between Balin and Dwalin.” He looked up at his fiancé with a questioning look.  
“Dwalin,” Thorin said decidedly. “He's my best friend, since our first year of university. Balin is more like an uncle to me. We'll think of another important task for him. But please, forbid him to give a speech.”  
“Okay, Dwalin it is,” Bilbo mumbled distractedly while he scribbled something down. “And Bombur and Nori will take care of the catering, of course. My nephew Frodo can be the ring-bearer, I believe we agreed to that already... we have as good as finished the list of invitees, haven't we?” He shuffled through the mountain of papers absent-mindedly, and when he found what he was looking for, he shortly nodded to himself. “Yes, we have that one, yes. Oh no, why did I put Lobelia Sackville-Baggins on it? I hate her! Do you think that I could get away with it if I don't invite her?”  
Thorin pulled Bilbo closer to him. “Don't be so stressed out, we have plenty of time to arrange everything,” he said, caring.  
“Yes, yes I know,” Bilbo said, annoyed. “But everything has to be perfect and I have the feeling that I'm overlooking something very important.”  
“Then we still have about five months to arrange it anyway,” Thorin said in a dry tone. “Oh, before I forget something: I've got an idea for our honeymoon.”  
Curious, Bilbo looked up at him. “Go on?”  
“You wanted to go to New-Zealand sometime, didn't you?”  
Bilbo's mouth fell open. “No, you're not serious? That's impossible! It's much too far away, too expensive, and I'm afraid of flying, and I can't leave the hotel for a long time...”  
Thorin smiled. Those moments were still rare, but it made them extra sincere when it happened. “Don't worry about that,” he told Bilbo. “You deserve a long holiday, the hotel can be closed for a few weeks, it will be fine. And you just said it's a windfall that we don't have to pay for our wedding location. New-Zealand is absolutely stunning, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo that was my first fic :) Hope you enjoyed it, please tell me what you think of it so I know what to work on! Xx


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